


Hunters Don't Fall in Love

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Mild Language, Self-Esteem Issues, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4060267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader is a hunter in love with Dean, but doesn’t think he could ever feel the same. Even after they work out their feelings, it's tough to figure out how to have a relationship as hunters. Then Dean's worst nightmare comes true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> (This started as a one shot (chapter one) and then turned into this crazy thing, but I'm just going with it!)

****Reader's POV****

You slid your foot into your black combat boot, double knotted the laces, and then pulled the hem of your dark denim jeans down over it. From the top of your dresser you grabbed your pistol and then holstered it inside the waistband of your jeans. You pulled on your thick army green jacket, zipped it up over your black v-neck t-shirt, and then glanced in the mirror to pull your long hair back into a ponytail. After slipping your knife into the small holster in your pocket, you picked up your bag off the bed and headed out to meet the boys.

It had been nearly a year now that you’d been staying at the bunker with Sam and Dean Winchester. It had started out as a temporary thing—your dad had been a good friend of Bobby Singer’s, and the Winchester boys had bailed you out in the middle of a hunt gone bad. Your dad didn’t make it, and you’d been badly injured, so the boys had brought you back to the bunker with them to heal up and grieve. But you needed to work; it helped take your mind off of everything—both the agony of losing your Dad and the lingering pain in your left shoulder. So after a few weeks, you’d started accompanying the guys when they would find a job, and you’d proved invaluable. The three of you had never really talked it over, it was just assumed that you would stick around. And you liked it here. You couldn’t imagine hunting alone, and the bunker was really starting to feel like home. And besides that, Sam and Dean had become great friends and partners. At this point, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You met the guys at the impala, tossing your bag into the backseat and then crawling in behind it. It was very early in the morning, the sun was just coming up over the trees and the sky was streaked with orange and yellow clouds.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, sprawling out across the back seat, using your bag as a pillow.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean said with a smirk. Sam tossed a granola bar back to you—breakfast.

“Thanks,” you said, sitting up slightly. If there was food, surely there was coffee. “Did you get—” Sam was already handing you a cup.

“Do you really think I would forget the coffee? One cup with half & half, just for you,” Sam smiled.

You sighed. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

“Hey, I thought I was the best,” Dean protested with a fake frown.

“You’re both the best,” you compromised.

You settled back with a smile, leaning against your bag with your legs still across the back seat, forgetting the seat belt. You sipped your coffee as Dean popped a cassette into the stereo. A small smile graced your lips as Creedence Clearwater Revival filled the car. You loved Dean’s taste in music. You knew Sam was rolling his eyes as he settled against the passenger side window. The tires spun against the gravel driveway as Dean peeled out of the drive and onto the road.

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song while he drove. You secretly loved to watch him do that. You secretly loved him, but that was something else entirely. Over the past year, you had unfortunately and unquestionably and completely fallen for the man. The thought of him made you smile, the sight of him made your stomach knot, and the sound of his voice made your knees feel weak. You loved how much he loved pie, the way he drank a beer, and how would do just about anything for a sandwich. You loved the way he treated his car like a person and the way he would do anything to protect his family. But the thought of all this love also made your heart twist in shame. You knew Dean, and you knew he would never feel the same.

Dean was the most attractive and charming guy you had ever met. He seemed to have women falling all over him all the time. All it took was a freaking wink and their pants practically fell off. Not to mention, he was like the world’s greatest demon hunter, which no one really knew, but still, it was true. You knew you were a great hunter, and you’d even bailed Dean out of a few tight corners in the past year, but you definitely weren’t Dean’s type. Hunting, grief, and being injured had really taken a toll on your body in the past year; you had scars everywhere, and you knew you were carrying some extra weight. You almost never wore makeup or fixed your hair in anything other than a ponytail (seriously, what would the point be?), and you had next to zero experience when it came to anything remotely sexual. Sure, the two of you flirted constantly, but that’s just the way Dean was. Dean could have any woman he wanted, hunter or not, and there was absolutely no reason for him to want you. Even just last week, he’d been out all night doing Lord knows what (but you definitely could assume). And he was always hitting on gorgeous women when the three of you were in a bar (or anywhere, let’s be honest). You knew you just didn’t compare. Even the thought alone made you feel self conscious, and you pulled your jacket down to make sure you were fully covered. You took another sip of your coffee and leaned your head back against the window and closed your eyes, trying to banish these thoughts which seemed to be plaguing you lately.

 

* * *

 

The hunt did not go very well. What you’d thought would be a simple salt & burn ghost case had turned out to be so much worse. There was a nest of demons controlling a group of ghosts, and the three of you had just walked right into it. You all made it out alive, but you’d been thrown through a window and were pretty scratched up. One particularly bad gash on your hand was wrapped in a strip of Dean’s t-shirt, and you held your hand to your chest as Dean sped back to the motel in the impala.

Dean insisted on carrying you inside, which was ridiculous, but you were too tired for a fight. He set you gently down in a chair so he could stitch you up as Sam headed for the shower. You winced as he poured whiskey over your hand and as he pulled the needle through your skin. You couldn’t keep the tears from running down your cheeks from the pain, but you weren’t about to make a noise or let Dean know how badly it hurt. When he was finished, he looked up.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently, putting his palm to your cheek and wiping at your tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I know that sucks.”

You closed your eyes as your heart started to pound from his touch. It almost hurt  more than getting stitches without anesthesia—feeling what you felt for him and knowing that he would never feel the same.

“Hey,” he said again, his voice low. You opened your eyes and met his gaze. Then he leaned forward and closed the space between you, pressing his lips against yours. At first it was a little hesitant, and then suddenly he gripped your face in both his hands and slid his tongue past your unsuspecting lips. Your breath caught in your throat as warmth flooded your body and you leaned into him. He kissed you urgently and hungrily, and you returned it with just as much passion and longing. You felt tingles all the way down into your toes as you wrapped your good hand around the back of his neck and pulled him even closer. You sighed in pleasure, and then Dean abruptly pulled back. You instinctively tried to pull him in again, but he resisted and you came crashing back down to earth. You couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes, but it looked almost like shame. A lump rose in your throat, but you clenched your jaw and forced it down. There was no way you were going to embarrass yourself by crying now.

“I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did. I just–” Dean pulled out of your grip and stood up. All you could do was nod. You knew if you opened your mouth all that would come out was a sob.

“I’m gonna— I mean, I might have left something in the impala or— I just—just need to get some air.” Dean turned around and was out the door in a second. Just then, Sam exited the bathroom, wearing a white t-shirt and pajama pants and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. God, couldn’t a girl ever get a moment alone to have a good cry?

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked.

You had to take a couple deep breaths before you could respond without crying, but you managed to keep your voice relatively quaver-free when you spoke. “He thought he forgot something in the impala.” You looked up at Sam, and you knew your eyes were shining with unshed tears, but you hoped that he would just attribute it to your injury, though that pain had nothing on the pain that was ripping at your heart right now. “I’m all stitched up. Mind if I shower next?”

“Go for it,” Sam had a confused look on his face, but he stepped aside as you snatched your bag off of one of the beds and ducked into the bathroom. Once you were inside, you turned the shower on full force, sat on the floor, and cried.

 

* * *

 

**  
**Dean's POV****

I stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the motel and took a deep breath. What was I thinking? I couldn’t believe I’d done that—I was usually so good at resisting that temptation and pushing my feelings down as far as they could go. I leaned against the cool brick wall and let my head fall back with a thunk. I’d seen the tears in her eyes, and now she probably thought I didn’t like her, which wasn’t as bad as her knowing I did like her, but still sucked. God, this was a mess.

I had wanted to kiss her for months, or maybe even since the day I first met her. I was attracted to her in a way that I had never been attracted to a woman before. She was beautiful without trying; she was a totally badass hunter; she was passionate about saving people and helping people. She always did the right thing, even if it meant sacrificing herself. She was an amazing person—so much better than me. She deserved the world. Which is why I would never tell her how I felt about her. I knew I couldn’t give her what she deserved. I was shit at committed relationships, and I came with a set of baggage that no one wanted to deal with, not even me.

I’d tried to deny my feelings, and I’d tried to forget them. I’d slept with more women than I could count in an attempt to forget, but it was always short-lived. Trying to drink them away barely made a dent. So I’d accepted that I would just have to live this way—wanting what I could never have.

I stood there stewing for a few minutes before Sam stuck his head out the door, looking for me.

“What the hell, Dean? What did you do to her?”

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“She looks crushed, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the stitches in her hand.”

“Oh, God,” I moaned, dropping my head back against the wall again.

“What did you do, Dean?” Sam pressed.

“I…” What the hell. “I kissed her.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, Sammy, I did it without thinking, and now I can’t take it back, and she’s upset. What the hell do I do now?”

“You tell her how you feel, idiot.”

“What?”

“Come on, Dean, don’t pretend like it’s not completely obvious to me. I can tell—everyone can tell—you have feelings for her. Just tell her.”

“I can’t, Sammy.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Fine, well, you’ve got her sobbing in the bathroom right now, so you need to do something. She’s not going anywhere and neither are you, so you need to make this right.”

I sighed and pushed myself off the wall, standing to face Sam.

“I don’t know what to do, Sammy. I suck at this stuff.”

“Well, figure it out, dude.” He retreated back into the room and I followed. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Sam was changing his pajama pants for jeans and grabbing his coat and wallet.

“I’m going to go get us some food, and by the time I get back you guys had better be fine.”

I tossed him the keys without saying anything. Then I sat on the bed until the shower shut off. I waited a few minutes, then walked over to the bathroom door, planning to knock softly, but I stopped when I heard her crying inside.I thought I heard her saying something, so even though I knew I shouldn’t, I pressed my ear against the door and listened.

“—even have thought for one second that he would want this?” I heard her say. “I hate this body. Why does this have to be me? Why can’t I be anyone else? Why can’t I be good enough for once?”

I couldn’t let her think that. There was no way I was going to let her believe that _she_ wasn’t good enough for _me_. I gently tried the door knob, but it was locked. So I fished my lockpick out of my pocket and quickly got it open. I was momentarily stunned when the door swung open, and I saw her standing there, clad in nothing but silky pink panties and a black bra.

* * *

****Reader's POV****

You weren’t sure how long you had been in the bathroom, but probably long enough for it to be questionable. You cried until you didn’t have any tears left—reminding yourself that you would never be good enough for Dean, would never be the kind of girl he wanted. Then you showered off all the blood and grime from the hunt—and the taste of Dean from your lips. Then you cried some more, and now you were standing in front of the mirror in your underwear with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks, wondering how you could cover this up before you had to go back out there. Or if it would be acceptable to jump directly into one of the beds and pull the covers up over your head before either of them saw your face.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, the tears started again. “How could I even have thought for one second that he would want this?” you said to yourself with a sob, mentally noting each scar and blemish and every place you carried extra fat. You lifted your arms slightly and then let them fall back down to your sides with a smack. “I hate this body,” you hissed through your teeth. “Why does this have to be me? Why can’t I be anyone else? Why can’t I be good enough for once?”

Suddenly, the door behind you swung open and you jumped and spun around, facing Dean who stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. You crossed your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to cover yourself.

“What the hell, Dean?” you began, trying to appear angry even though you couldn’t stop the tears.

“Damn it, Y/N,” Dean interrupted, taking two steps toward you and grasping your bare upper arms. “Listen, you are everything good, and you are _beautiful_. Why would you say that? Why would you ever want to be anyone else?” You felt your cheeks get hot, embarrassed by his words. You didn’t know what to say, and even if you had, you couldn’t have gotten your mouth to open if you’d tried.

“And trust me, I want you. God, I—” he lowered his eyes and shook his head slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff, and you remembered that you were standing before him in your underwear right now. “I want you so bad. And you should know that. I feel like it’s written all over my face constantly. I war with myself every damn day to keep my feelings for you under control. Because you don’t need to get mixed up with someone like me. I’m—I’m a mess, and I don’t deserve even part of you. But please don’t treat yourself like—”

Dean didn’t get to finish his sentence because you leaned forward and crushed your lips to his. His grip on your arms tightened slightly as you took him by surprise, and he pulled you against his chest briefly before pulling away.

“Y/N, I’m serious. You deserve so much more than what I can give you, and I don’t want to drag you down with all this baggage and this life—”

“Dean, will you stop? I’m not some girl off the street; I’ve been a hunter my whole life, I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“But, Y/N, you don’t even know...you don’t know the things I’ve done. You wouldn’t like me—you wouldn’t even want to be around me—if you knew some of the things I’ve done.”

“Dean, this is so much more than just a crush. I know I’ve only known you a year, and maybe I don’t know every single detail that’s in your past, but…” You looked straight into those gorgeous green eyes and took a deep breath before you blurted your confession. “I think I’m in love with you, Dean.” His eyes widened at the words. “And I don’t care what you’ve done.” Dean dropped his forehead against yours and whispered your name in disbelief.

“I just never thought…” you continued softly. “I just never thought that you would be interested in me. I mean, I’m not really your type.”

Dean didn’t give you a chance to keep second guessing his feelings. He pulled you to him, winding his arms around you and pressing his lips against yours. And in his kiss you felt everything he felt for you, and all your self-consciousness melted away and was replaced by a wave of happiness so big that you almost felt like laughing.

Dean had one hand tangled in your wet hair and the other hand pressed against the small of your back, and you were gripping him by the back of the neck, gasping when he slid his tongue into your mouth, when you heard the motel room door creak open and you jumped back.

“Guys?” Sam called out. You heard keys hit the table and the crinkle of a paper bag. You looked at Dean with wide eyes, but he just smirked.

“Give us a few, Sam,” he called back, kicking the bathroom door shut. You heard Sam chuckle, but Dean was reaching out for you again, drawing you to him so your bodies were once again pressed against each other. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I just can’t believe this is happening,” you said. Your voice sounded almost giddy. “I never thought this would happen.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Dean said, with a smoldering look in his eyes. And you laughed as he kissed you again.

 


	2. Hunters Don't Fall in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month later, Dean and the reader are still close. Until they have a disagreement about a hunt. But what will Dean do when it seems like his worst nightmare is actually coming true? Lots of feels and ANGST.

****Reader’s POV****

You woke slowly, with your cheek against Dean’s bare chest and one of your legs tangled between his. He was combing through your hair with his fingers, which made you smile, and you pressed your lips to his warm skin, letting him know that you were awake.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” His chest rumbled under your ear when he spoke, and your smile grew. It had been a month since that night—the stitches and the kiss and the tears and then more kisses and Dean admitting how he felt about you—but you would never get tired of hearing him call you gorgeous.

“Good morning,” you said. You pushed up onto your elbow so you could see his face, those green eyes that still took your breath away, the light spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and that mouth that had made you feel unbelievable things over the past month. You hadn’t been a virgin when you met Dean, but you had been pretty inexperienced, especially compared to him, which made you feel insecure and nervous. Sex before Dean had been mediocre at best, but now _oh my god_ you didn’t know anything could feel that good. Dean was gentle, patient, slow, not what you had expected, but everything you needed.

The wall of insecurity you had spent your life hiding behind was slowly chipping away when you were with Dean. He made you feel loved, wanted, _cherished_ , like you were some kind of treasure. Even when you weren’t in the bedroom, it showed—in the way he brought you coffee in the morning or the way he would wrap his arm around you while you were watching tv or the way he would kiss you in the hallway whenever Sam wasn’t around. He hadn’t said it yet—it being those three words you longed to hear— _I love you_. You’d blurted it that very first night, standing in your underwear in the tiny motel bathroom, and you were still completely sure of it—you had never been more sure of anything in your life actually. You knew you loved Dean, and you didn’t care that he hadn’t expressed the same thing. You hoped he would someday, but you weren’t about to push it. Being in the business of hunting monsters didn’t make falling in love easy.

“What time is it?” you asked, still a little groggy. It was always hard to tell what time it was in the bunker’s bedrooms because there weren’t any windows.

“Past nine, sleeping beauty.” Dean smiled. “I bet Sammy’s been up for hours.”

He was probably right, but you hated the idea of getting out of bed. The past couple days had been pure bliss—you were in between hunts, the world was relatively quiet, and while Sam was looking for a new case, you and Dean had spent more time in the bed than out of it. It had been days since you guys had been on a hunt though, and you knew you couldn’t spend whole days in bed with Dean forever.

“Guess we should go see if Sam’s dug up anything, huh?” you said a little reluctantly.

“Probably,” Dean replied, but he didn’t make a move to get up. Instead, he brought his hand to your face, brushing your hair back with his fingers and then pulling you in for a slow, smoldering kiss. Your hand was on his chest, and you slid it up to the back of his neck and pulled yourself on top of him. Dean’s other hand gripped your hip, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin that was exposed between the waistband of your underwear and the hem of your tank top. The heat of his hand warmed you all over, pooled in your lower belly and between your legs. You knew where this was headed, and you knew you really shouldn’t. Sam had been looking into cases all alone for days while you and Dean reveled in this honeymoon phase of your relationship. You pulled away reluctantly.

“Dean, if you keep kissing me like that, there is no way I’m going to get out of this bed.”

“So?” Dean asked, sliding his hand around your hip to your ass and giving it a squeeze. “Maybe if you’d wear pants to bed, I wouldn’t have such a hard time keeping my hands off you in the morning.”

“Um, excuse me, I seem to remember you being the one that took my pants off last night. It’s not my fault that I was too tired afterward to find them and get them back on again. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything to be honest.” As you spoke, you rolled off of Dean and got up, searching for the sweatpants in question, which happened to be slung over the back of the desk chair on the other side of the room. You pulled them on, and then went in search of your bra.

Dean groaned, but got up anyway and found enough clothing to get decent. He followed you to the library where you found Sam, sweaty from a run, guzzling water, and looking at his laptop screen.

“Morning,” he said, cheerfully.

“Mornin’” Dean mumbled, passing through the library and heading toward the kitchen, you guessed in search of coffee. You plopped into the chair across from Sam.

“Anything going on out there?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. I think I found us a case.” Sam turned his computer so that the screen was facing you, and you read the headline out loud: “Third Bizarre Death in as Many Days.”

“What’s bizarre about them?” you asked as Dean returned to the room and set a mug of coffee in front of you. You smiled at him in thanks, picked it up, and took a sip.

“Yeah, what makes that our kind of thing?” Dean sat in the chair next to you and leaned forward to read the article.

“Liquified insides and, get this,” Sam paused and turned the computer back to himself and clicked a few times. When he spun it back, you saw a zoomed in picture of the cautioned off crime scene. Fuzzy and barely visible in the top right corner was a man whose eyes appeared to be glowing.

“Whoa,” you said. You’d been a hunter for years, but you’d never seen anything like that before.

“You thinkin’ Djinn?” Dean asked Sam, looking up from the picture at his younger brother. You’d never hunted a Djinn before, but you’d heard stories about them from Sam and Dean.

“Well, it could just be the lighting or a trick of the camera, but a Djinn would explain the liquified insides, too.”

“Where we headed?” Dean sat back and sipped his coffee.

“Uh….” Sam squinted at the computer screen. “...little town called Holton, just outside Topeka. It’s about 3 hours.”

“K, let’s leave in 30.” You could tell he was excited to get back on the road and hunting again.

“Geesh, I better go shower then,” you said, kind of bummed that your blissful days in bed with Dean were coming to an end so abruptly. As a last ditch effort, you leaned into Dean and whispered in his ear, “Want to join me?”

Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, but shook his head.

“Sorry, babe, I’d better make sure baby’s ready to go and our arsenal is fully stocked. We’re gonna need it for a Djinn.” He pulled back to look at you, and you couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, but he just looked away and started talking with Sam about the last time they hunted a Djinn. You shrugged it off and headed to the bathroom.

* * *

 

After your shower, you were digging around in your dresser drawer for clothes and stuffing things into your duffel bag in handfuls. It had been a while since you’d done laundry, but you’d have to work with what you had. Dean’s 30 minute window was quickly closing, and you didn’t want to be the one to hold them up. You quickly threw on jeans and a t-shirt, but you couldn’t find your favorite jacket anywhere. Then it occurred to you, it was probably in Dean’s room. You hadn’t seen it since you’d gotten back from the last hunt, and you and Dean had barely made it into his room before he was taking your clothes off that day. Your stomach stirred a little at the memory, and your face flushed as you headed down the hall to Dean’s room to retrieve your jacket.

You breezed into the room, assuming that Dean was up in the garage packing up the impala, but you stopped short when you saw him sitting on his bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He looked up startled, and there was that odd look in his eyes again. What was going on?

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, fine.” Dean stood up, looking like he wanted to say something, but not saying anything. This was weird.

“I was, uh, I was just looking for my jacket. Is it in here?”

He ignored your question. “Look, Y/N, maybe...maybe you should sit out this Djinn hunt.”

“What?” You felt your face fall. Dean had never asked you to sit out on a hunt before.

“It’s just that Djinn...that’s some scary shit. And you’ve never hunted a Djinn before. I think it would be better—and safer—for everyone if you sat this one out.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you were so shocked you couldn’t find the words to say. Was Dean doubting your skills as a hunter? You thought you’d proven yourself time and again—you hunted with your dad your whole life, and you’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a year now—you’d seen and fought things that were way more dangerous than a Djinn.

Dean backtracked, tried changing his tack. “So why don’t you just take a couple days? Chill out here, have some time to yourself. You deserve it. Sam and I can handle the Djinn.” He tried to put his arm around you, but you brushed it off, feeling irritated. You could feel anger rising up in you now, bubbling up over the disbelief and the hurt.

“And you think I _can’t_ handle it? You know, I’ve been hunting almost as long as you have, and just because I haven’t seen _everything_ or been through the frickin’ apocalypse and back, doesn’t mean I’m not capable—”

Dean matched your anger and irritation. “Look, Y/N, it’s too dangerous. You are staying here, and that’s final. End of story.”

Your head was swirling, you couldn’t keep up with his changing attitude, you knew Dean wasn’t telling you the whole story, but that just made you feel more pissed. You drew yourself up as tall as you could. “Who decided you were King of the Bunker, Dean? You don’t get to decide what I hunt or don’t hunt. I am an adult, and I can do whatever I want.” You knew you sounded like a child, but you couldn’t help it. _You are not the boss of me._

Dean grabbed your arms, almost desperate in his attempt to make you listen to him. “Y/N, I don’t want you on this hunt. It’s too dangerous, and you are staying.”

You froze, the anger draining from you as the phrase _I don’t want you_ echoed in your head. You knew he didn’t mean it that way, you tried to tell yourself he didn’t mean it that way, but you couldn’t help the feelings of rejection and worthlessness that flooded you. Tears sprung to your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“Fine.” You surrendered, stepping back.

“Thank you.” Dean seemed relieved. He kissed you chastely and picked up his duffel bag from the bed. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Yeah, let me know if you need any help with research.” _Though I’m sure you won’t since you’ve already hunted a Djinn before, and you’re obviously a professional._

“We will.”

Once he left you sat on the bed and cried.

 

****Dean’s POV****

I tossed my duffel bag into the trunk next to Sammy’s, relieved that I’d been able to convince Y/N to stay at the bunker while we went after this Djinn. We probably could have used her help, honestly, but I’d rather know she was safe here than risk having her out there, vulnerable to a Djinn. Leaving her behind kind of felt like having my arm ripped off, but if anything happened to her, it would have been a thousand times worse. Djinn’s were scarier than they initially seemed. Werewolves or vampires were one thing, but Djinns messed with your mind. When Charlie had been attacked by that offshoot, fear-feeding Djinn, it had been hell to get her back. There was no way I could risk putting Y/N through anything like that.

Sam was already in the passenger seat studying something on his phone when I slid in behind the wheel.

“Where’s Y/N?” Sam asked.

“Not coming. I told her to take a couple days for herself and that we could handle it.”

“And she was okay with that? She’s never stayed back on a hunt before.”

“Yeah, she’s fine with it. It’s too dangerous anyway. I’m glad she’s staying.”

“Are you sure? We could really use her help on this.”

“She’s staying, Sam.”

“Okay.” Sam sounded skeptical, but he kept his mouth shut as the impala roared out of the garage.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want Y/N here with us. I _did_. Honestly, it was weird to not have her in the backseat throwing snark and keeping us in check. This was the first hunt we’d been on without her since the first time she’d come hunting with us almost a year ago. She was a great hunter, and had only gotten better since she’d been hunting with us. I knew we would miss her—hell, I missed her already—but it just wasn’t worth putting her in danger. Not this time.

It was that stupid freaking dream. I could still hear the echoes of her screams in my head as she was tortured by that demon. I’d wanted to peel his skin off, fillet him alive, burn him to a crisp, and then kill the bastard, but I’d been stuck—not even with ropes I could cut or cuffs I could pick the lock on, just stuck, frozen against my will, unable to do anything, unable to keep her safe. I’d woken up sweating and shaking and with tears in my eyes. It had felt so real; I still felt unnerved even after spending three days in bed with her, reassuring myself that she was still here and alive and fine. Normally I didn’t let this kind of stuff get under my skin, but I just couldn’t seem to shake this off.

I took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. _She’s fine. She’ll be safe at the bunker_ , I told myself. _Just get the Djinn and get back home to her._

* * *

 

“Hey.” I spoke low into the phone, standing outside the motel room in the cool evening air.

“Hey, Dean,” she said, lightly. I closed my eyes, soaking in the sound of her voice, missing her like crazy, wishing she were here, almost regretting asking her to stay behind.

“Just wanted to let you know we got here and we’re checking it out. It’s definitely a Djinn, and I don’t think it will take us long to gank it and get out of town.”

“Good.” She sounded distracted, and I wondered what she was doing.

“Whatcha up to?”

“Mmm, nothing. I cleaned up a little.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

This was weird, she had never been this... _distant_ , even before we had gotten close. There was so much I wanted to tell her—about why I asked her to stay behind, how much I really cared about her, how I was just trying to keep her safe—but I couldn’t come up with the words. So I said something that came a little more naturally to me.

“Whatcha wearin?”

“Not anything exciting,” she scoffed.

“I’m concentrating on the “not anything” part of that response.” I pictured her in my mind, and god I just wanted my hands on her.

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Come on, babe, I just miss you.” I pressed my head back into the wall. She was mad. Why did I do this?

“Well, you’re the one that asked me to stay.” I couldn’t argue with that.  She wanted an explanation, but I couldn’t give her one. Because of a dream I had? That was stupid.

“I know.” I sighed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. You guys be careful.”

“We will. I miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss you guys too. It’s so quiet without the two of you here.”

My gut twisted; she was acting like the past month had never happened.

“We’ll be home soon.”

“I know. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

I went back inside and threw my phone onto the table and myself onto the bed.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, looking up from his computer.

“She’s mad that I made her stay behind,” I mumbled.

“Of course she is, Dean. She probably thinks you don’t trust her.”

I made an indecipherable noise out of frustration. “I’m just trying to keep her safe.”

“C’mon, Dean. She’s a hunter. You can’t keep her safe.”

“Well, I can try alright?”

“No, you can’t. You can’t keep her from doing what she does. She wants to be here just as bad as you and me. I know you want to protect everyone, but you can’t.”

“Why did I think I could do this, Sammy? This isn’t going to work. I can’t be with someone for more than one night. Everyone I get close to is in danger. I fuck up everything I touch.”

“What is this really about, Dean? Why did you really ask her to stay?”

“I just thought—I was just...worried, I guess.”

“Why? Y/N has hunted with us for a year, and it never made you worried before.”

“I just—” Oh, fuck it all. “I had this dream.”

“A dream? Really, Dean?”

“Yes, okay, but it was my _worst nightmare_.” My voice was barely working anymore; I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “I couldn’t save her,” I managed to choke out.

Sam was quiet for a moment, pain in his eyes. I knew he understood. He understood better than anybody.

“You need to tell her,” he said.

“Tell her what? That I would prefer that she stay in the bunker permanently because of some freaky dream I had? Yeah, that won’t make her mad.”

“No, dipshit. That you love her.”

 

 

****Reader’s POV****

The first day the boys were gone, you cleaned the bunker from top to bottom in an attempt to distract yourself from everything you were feeling. You felt like you had whiplash—one minute you were snuggled up next to Dean in bed and the next minute you were yelling at each other. You still felt angry, but mostly you just felt hurt. You had no idea why he would ask you to stay back from this hunt, but it hurt to think he didn’t want you there. He had never doubted your hunting skills before, even when he barely knew you, so you didn’t really think that was the issue. You had been spending a lot of time together since you confessed your feelings for each other. Maybe he needed a break. But why wouldn’t he just tell you that? Why would he pull this alpha male shit and demand that you stay?

You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of complete insecurity and crippling self-doubt, and you were trying desperately to keep yourself from falling into it. You couldn’t stop the echo in your head of Dean’s voice saying _I don’t want you_ , and even though you kept telling yourself that he didn’t mean it that way, you couldn’t keep yourself from feeling that maybe he did. Maybe he’d changed his mind now that he’d been...with you. He’d never promised you anything. You’d never had a conversation about what kind of relationship this was. You had a moment in a motel bathroom and lots of good sex, but that was about it. You’d put yourself out there, and Dean probably just hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings. A million old insecurities came rushing back at you—you were never going to be Dean’s type, you shouldn’t expect to keep his attention for long. Dean didn’t do committed, and it wasn’t fair to expect that from him. _What was I thinking?_ you thought. _Hunters don’t fall in love._

* * *

 

By the second day, the insecurity was dragging you down, and you missed Dean fiercely; he was all you could think about. You missed his voice saying your name and the feeling of his arms around you and the way he looked at you. You couldn’t stop worrying about him and Sam hunting the Djinn; your heart wrenched every time you thought about something happening to either of them. Dean had kept his promise and called you when they got to Holton, but the conversation had been terribly weird and awkward—you hadn’t known what to say to him when he got flirty, you couldn’t tell if he was doing it because he felt like he had to or because he genuinely missed you. But if he missed you, then why did he ask you to stay? You just wanted an explanation, but you knew you weren’t going to get one.

It had been a really long time since you’d been at the bunker by yourself, and you were going insane left alone with your thoughts and nothing to distract you from them. You decided you needed to get out for a little bit. And there was hardly any food in the kitchen, so you knew you needed to hit the grocery store. You made a quick list and then were on your way.

As soon as you got there, you could feel eyes on you, but you tried to brush it off. You were at the grocery store for god’s sake, in the middle of nowhere Kansas. No one knew who you were here, and no one was out to get you. Still, you were glad you had your knife, and feeling it holstered in your pocket made you feel better.

You filled your cart, paid with a fake credit card, and then headed to the parking lot to load the bags into your car. And that’s when you saw him, and you knew he was why you had felt like you were being watched. Because he had been watching you. He was young, tall but skinny, with messy light hair and blue eyes. He looked normal enough, but something just felt off about him. He approached you as you were setting the last of the plastic bags into your trunk. You eyed him warily.

“Excuse me, miss? Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

“Sorry, I don’t. I’m sure if you went inside, they would let you make a call.”

He paused for a beat. “Actually, that’s not gonna work for me.” His voice was low and serious, and you were immediately on guard. You slid your hand into your pocket and grasped the handle of your knife, drawing it out of the holster slightly. You didn’t want to create a scene in the parking lot, but you would if you had to.

“Listen, my husband’s a cop, and he’s just inside,” you lied. “I think you should go back to your car.”

“Liar.” He laughed, his eyes flicking into inky black pools. You whipped your knife out of your pocket, but before you could do anything more, he lifted his hand and your insides were twisting, writhing with pain. Your knife dropped from your hand, clattering on the asphalt, your arms drew in against your will as you doubled over in agony. You tried to scream, but you couldn’t. You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, bubbling up from your throat. You fell onto your knees. You couldn’t breath. It felt like your lungs were filled with water. Or maybe it was blood. And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally planning on writing a second chapter for this, but then I started and it just happened and it totally got away from me. I'm currently planning for one more chapter, but we'll see where it goes. Please let me know what you think! :)


	3. Believe

****Dean’s POV****

 

The first time Y/N didn’t answer her phone, I tried not to worry. She was probably sleeping. She was probably in the shower. She was probably still mad at me.

The second time, I couldn’t keep down the bubble of panic that rose in my chest. I tried to stay focused on finding the Djinn, but I just couldn’t. I could feel it in my gut: something was _wrong_.

When I fished my phone out of my suit pants pocket to try calling the sixth time, in between questioning the coroner and the family that lived across the street from the park where the bodies had been found, Sam put his hand over mine before I could hit send.

“Dean, stop calling and get your ass back to the bunker and make sure she’s okay. I’ll take care of the Djinn.”

“Sammy, I’m not going to—”

“Dean. Go. We know where it’s gonna be; I’ll get it done. A couple hours, tops. I’ll call you if anything goes wrong, but it won’t.”

“But—” I continued to protest. I hated the idea of leaving Sam to hunt alone.

“I’ll find a car and get back as soon as I can. I’ll be right behind you. But you shouldn’t wait any longer to make sure she’s okay. I’m getting worried, too. It’s not like her to not answer her phone, even if she is pissed at you.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. “I’m freaking out, man.”

“I know. Just don’t get into a wreck on your way back.”

 

* * *

 

I’d never driven so fast in my life; it was pure luck that I didn’t pass any law enforcement on my way. I didn’t bother pulling into the garage, I just parked baby on the curb and in just a few steps I was yanking open the front door. The library and the war room were empty. I jogged down the stairs calling her name. No response. My heart was racing as I bounded into the kitchen and then ran back across the war room and down the hall to check her bedroom. The light was on, but the room was empty. Her bed was unmade and rumpled, pajama pants lying in a puddle on the floor. _No no no._ She wasn’t anywhere.

“Y/N!!” I shouted as loudly as I could, throwing open every door I passed. My bedroom, Sam’s bedroom, the archive, the lab. But I knew it was pointless; she wasn’t here. I skidded to a stop in the firing range, and then finally had the thought to check the garage to see if her car was here, even though I had a feeling I wouldn’t find it. There was no way anything could have gotten in here, so she must have gone out. Something must have happened to her while she was out.

I cursed loudly when I got to the garage and her car was missing. A murderous rage was coursing through me. I pulled out my phone out of my pocket with shaking hands and called Sam.

“Sammy, she’s not here. And I am going to kill a son of a bitch.”

 

****Reader’s POV****

 

You fought to keep your eyes open, but you knew it was useless. You’d been tied to this chair, stuck in this dimly lit, closet sized room, for...you had no idea how long it had been—there were no windows, you couldn’t see the sun, there was no clock, and even if you’d had a watch, you wouldn’t have been able to see it. It could have been three hours or three days; it felt like an eternity.

You’d woken up to find yourself in this situation some time ago with no idea how long you had been unconscious and fuzzy memories of what had happened in the grocery store parking lot. Your knife was gone, your cell phone was gone; the fucker had even taken the bobby pins out of your hair. You’d wriggled and twisted against the ropes, trying to get free, until the pain at your wrists and ankles was unbearable, skin rubbed raw, blood trickling down your palms and into your shoes. When you’d tried everything you could think of with no luck, you struggled to keep your breathing steady as panic gripped you and tears streamed down your cheeks, your mind racing. No one was coming to your rescue—Sam and Dean were three hours away hunting a Djinn, and they didn’t know anything was wrong. You wished you had at least told one of them you were going out for supplies, but even if they had known, how would they find you? Who was that demon? How was he so powerful? Why had he captured you? How did he even know who you were? _What the hell was going on?_

But by the time the door creaked open and the demon stood in front of you, your eyes were dry and the panic had subsided taking all your energy with it. Exhaustion had hit you like a mac truck, and it was all you could do to keep your head up.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear there, Y/N,” the demon said in a low voice.

“Who are you?” You tried to sound menacing, but your throat was so dry that all you could manage was a weak rasp.

He closed the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps. When he was standing right in front of you, he squatted down to look into your face, his black eyes peering into yours. There was so much evil there your stomach churned and you couldn’t hold his gaze. But when you tried to look down, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him while he spoke.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m your worst nightmare. I’m the demon that’s going to ruin your pathetic little life.”

“Why?” The word came out sounding like a sob, and you hated yourself for it. You were a _demon hunter_ , this asshole shouldn’t have had this effect on you, turning you into a wobbly puddle of fear.

“Well,” he said, standing back up and looking down on you in disgust. “For fun mostly. But also because I know you are a little Winchester pet, and I don’t like that. Those boys need to stop taking in strays, it’s ruining all my plans.”

“Plans?” You couldn’t help but be intrigued. You could feel in your gut that there was something big going on here, and if even if you did manage to get out of this mess, you were going to need to know what it was.

“Yes, _plans_. I know you’ve never heard of me, but isn’t it at least a little bit obvious? I am the most powerful demon in the pit. I was Lucifer's right hand man for _years_. Until those Winchesters shot it all to shit. But it’s okay because I’ll get my revenge, and I’m going to be the new king of hell. Right after everybody is out of my way.”

You managed to muster up a meager laugh.

The demon grabbed your face and wrenched it up so you were looking into his eyes again, irises now flicked back to blue. You could feel anger radiating off him in waves.

“Listen here, you ugly thing,” he spat. “Crowley. Abaddon. They do it _all wrong_. The damn demon hunters are always getting in the _fucking_ way, and no one seems to have the _balls_ to do anything about it. This hunter problem needs to be taken care of. And I’m going to be the one that _finally_ gets it done. First I’m going to ruin _you_. Then I’m going to _destroy_ your Winchesters. I’m going to cut them into little. Fucking. Bits. And then I’m going to take out every  hunter out there. I have a list.” He smiled in your face and you wanted to throw up. “No one will be left to be the hero. Then, I’ll take out Crowley. My road to the throne will be paved in the blood of the good. And no one will be left to fight against me.”

Your head dropped down with a rough jolt as the demon straightened up, regaining his composure, as your weary brain struggled to process his little speech.

“Now. Tell me where the Winchesters are.”

You stubbornly stayed silent, gathering all of your courage into a glare that you hoped looked fierce.

“I thought that’s how this would go.” He raised one hand in your direction and suddenly there was a searing pain in your left arm, like a hot knife was slicing through your skin, warm blood running down your wrist. You cried out in paid, but then clamped your mouth shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Now, let’s try again. Tell me where the Winchesters are.” You put on your best bitch face; you were starting to get pissed.

“We can do this all day, you know.” The demon chuckled darkly as you felt another cut burn into the skin of your forearm. You managed to stay silent this time, gritting your teeth together.

“Who are you so worried about protecting?” He wondered out loud as he paced the small space. He sure did love to hear himself talk. “Is it Sam?” He looked at your face for some indication. “Or Dean?” You knew your face would give it away. You cared deeply about both Winchesters, but there was no denying how in love you were with Dean. “Oh, it’s Dean isn’t it?” He paused. “Wait…are you… _in love_ with him?” His sneer made your stomach twist. He laughed and looked you up and down. “You don’t really seem like the Dean Winchester type, do you?”

He stopped pacing and turned to face you. You could see realization bloom in his eyes. “Why aren’t you with them, anyway? It seems like if they _really cared_ about you, they would take you with them whenever they left town, don’t you think? Seems kind of _thoughtless_ to leave you grocery shopping alone, where any old demon could just up and kidnap you.” He laughed again.

“It’s obvious that they’re just using you. You’re a decent hunter, right? So they take you along when they need you. You’re probably a convenient and willing sexual partner too, though you’re not much to look at. Are you needy? I bet you’re needy. I bet Dean needed a break from all that…” he gestured in your general direction, “...that’s why he left you alone. I mean, why would he leave you if he really thought you were worth anything?” Another slice into your arm had you squirming slightly. It took all your strength to keep from yelling.

“Why are you protecting him? He doesn’t care about you.” He flicked his wrist slightly and your cheek was busted open, blood trickling down your face, mixing with the tears that you didn’t realize you were crying. “Just tell me where they are, and this can all be over, Y/N.”

 

* * *

 

Later, you sat slumped in your chair, overcome with exhaustion and feeling completely defeated. The ropes tying your wrists and ankles to the chair were the only things holding you up. The exposed skin on your arms was littered with shallow cuts, a small pool of blood forming on the floor behind you underneath where your hands were tied. A dark stain covered the front of your t-shirt, where the demon had sliced into your stomach while telling you how fat and ugly and damaged you were. The physical pain was excruciating, but the emotional state you were in was giving it a run for its money. You wished you could just pass out, but your brain was racing, swirling with the words of the demon. Lies that you were beginning to believe.

Thankfully the demon was no closer to figuring out where Dean and Sam were. That had become the easy part. Not begging for him to just kill you already had become the hard part.

  
  
  


****Dean’s POV****

 

“Mother _fucking_ sonofa _bitch_!” I slammed the heel of my hand into the impala as hard as I could. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t care. We had just driven for a day and a half—Sam had dug up the last registered gps coordinates of Y/N’s phone—just to find the smashed remains of her cell phone in an overgrown parking lot in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I raked my fingers through my hair roughly and glanced at Sam who was standing on the other side of the car, looking defeated and pissed and worried. He met my eyes and shrugged, his jaw clenched tight. Then it seemed like something behind me caught his eye as he stared over my shoulder. I spun around, but all I saw was an empty field, just a mess of tall grass, weeds, and a few scraggly looking trees. I squinted into the dark, my eyes playing tricks on me, making me see things that weren’t there. But there was something…

“A light,” Sam said, suddenly. “There’s a light out there.” He jogged to the back of the impala and popped the trunk open, digging around for supplies and filling his pockets. We had no idea what we would be up against here, so we took a little bit of everything. I holstered the colt in the waistband of my jeans next to my 1911 and tucked a flask of holy water into my jacket. I also slid a silver knife into my pocket along with a couple other random things. I glanced at my machete, but decided to leave it. I _really_ hoped that we wouldn’t be dealing with vamps.

Sam and I jogged through the field, probably about a quarter mile, before we saw a barn—big and wooden with peeling, faded red paint and an actual rooster weathervane perched on the peak of the roof. In the distance, I could see the dark outline of a house and the glimmer of a porch light. We approached the barn from the back, slowly and silently, crouched in the tall grass. It looked completely abandoned, dark and absolutely no sign of life at all, but I knew from experience that that was all the more reason to check it out. A few feet away, I signaled to Sam, and we split and headed toward opposite corners. The boards were rough against my back, even through three layers of fabric, as I drew my gun and made my way around the building. I peered around in the dark and listened as hard as I could, but I couldn’t see or hear anything around. I felt my stomach sink; maybe this was just a dead end. We were just lurking around some family’s farm. There was nothing out of the ordinary here.

Around the other side of the building, Sam was crouched in front of the door, fingers to his nose. He looked at me and nodded, and I felt my adrenaline kick up. That only meant one thing: there was a demon here.

Sam slowly slid the door open, just enough for me to slip through, gun drawn, into the dark interior of the barn. I paused a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the lack of moonlight, and pulled the flask of holy water out of my jacket as Sam crept in behind me. The barn seemed mostly empty, no tractor, no hay, no farm equipment or animals or anything. We circled the vacant room, the only sound our boots scuffling across the dirty floor. I approached the back of the room cautiously; the further I got from the door, the more on-guard I became. A short, narrow hallway jutted off to my right, and I craned my neck to see down it. A sliver of dim yellow light was visible through a crack under a door at the end of the hall. I whistled lightly to get Sam’s attention, and he was next to me immediately.

“The rest of the barn’s clear,” he whispered.

“Looks like if anything’s here, it’s in that room.” When we got to the door, I tested the knob tentatively. It didn’t budge. I took two steps back and then threw myself forward, using all the force I had to kick the door in.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light—it wasn’t bright by any means, but it seemed so after walking around in pitch black for so long. Then, my heart stopped.

She was tied to a chair, covered in blood, leaning forward, hair falling around her face. “No,” I choked out. _Please please please don’t be dead_. I rushed forward, dropped to my knees, and lifted her head as gently as I could, cupping her cheeks in my hands. Her face was streaked with blood and tears, there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and her lips were chapped and cracked. I slid my fingers down to her neck, desperate to feel a pulse there.

“Y/N? Baby? Please—” I had to take a deep breath. “Please wake up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that cilffhanger ending! This story has morphed into something completely beyond my control at this point. Still working on it! Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon! :) Please let me know what you think!!


	4. Tear In My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter was inspired by the song Tear In My Heart by Twenty One Pilots

****Reader’s POV****

 

You came to with a start, to someone’s hands gripping the sides of your face, and you instantly cried out in pain. You’d never felt such excruciating pain in your life; your whole body felt like it was on fire. You could feel yourself on the edge of passing out again, but you struggled to keep yourself conscious as your tired brain grasped at the memories of where you were and what had happened to you. You forced your eyes open, expecting to see the black eyes of the demon, but instead you were met with glassy brilliant green ones, eyebrows arched in concern, freckles scattered across a perfectly straight nose.

“Dean?” your voice was barely audible, just a whisper that cracked off hoarsely at the end of the syllable. You swallowed hard in an attempt to clear your painfully dry throat.

“Oh, god—” Dean’s voice broke as he clutched your cheeks and pressed his forehead into yours. You felt hands on your wrists, then a gentle tug as the ropes behind you were cut. You gasped in pain as your arms fell forward, and you felt Sam’s large hands on your shoulders, holding you up. Dean fished a knife out of his pocket and cut the ropes at your ankles. You could hardly hold your head up, and your brain felt heavy, like your thoughts were covered in a layer of thick mud, everything moving in slow motion.

“Who did this to you?” Dean growled. It took you a moment to process what he said and find your voice.

“It was…” You swallowed again. Every word was a struggle. “...a demon. Really...powerful. Didn’t even...need to...use a knife.” You looked down at your shredded arms and realized you were shaking violently. The edges of your vision were going blurry and dark, but you fought to stay awake. Sam and Dean needed to know what they were up against. Dean held your face while you spoke. There was fury in his eyes, but he waited for you to finish. “He’s taking out...hunters. He wants...you two more than...anyone.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“He’s just... _angry_. And evil.”

Dean stood and scooped you into his arms, one arm under your knees and one around your shoulders. “We’re getting you outta here. Then we’ll deal with the demon.”

But he barely made it one step towards the door, Sam right behind him, before the light flickered. There was a screech and a deafening slam as the barn door was opened. You felt fear overtake you, and you inadvertently clutched a hand in Dean’s flannel. He paused for just a moment, and, even though you couldn’t see their faces, you knew he was having a silent conversation with Sam. Then Sam took three long steps into the hallway, knife and holy water at the ready. Dean set you back down on the chair that was stained with your blood.

“No, no, no,” you whispered. You couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth; fear had taken over every coherent thought you had in your head. Fear of the demon, yes, but also fear for Sam and Dean going up against it. “Dean, no.” He loosened your grip on the front of his shirt, his face twisted with pain and rage.

“Y/N, you gotta stay here. I’m not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you again, I promise you. But you gotta stay here.”

He paused, looking at you intensely and gripping the back of your head with his hand. “You’re gonna be okay, you understand me?” he said gruffly. Then he was sauntering out the door, cocking his pistol and looking angry as hell. You heard a scuffle in the hallway and a loud bang. The walls shook, and you clambered off the chair and pulled yourself to a standing position with a groan. Every time you moved, your shirt pulled at the scabbed over wounds on your stomach, causing them to open again. It hurt like hell, but you weren’t about to sit back in a chair while Sam and Dean fought one of the most evil demons you’d ever encountered.

You shuffled to the door, slower than you wanted to but as fast as you could manage, still a little hunched around your injuries and with your arms wrapped around your middle. You peered through a crack in the slatted wooden door, but all you could see was dark, empty hallway. A guttural yell echoed off the walls of the barn, and your heart began to race—you couldn’t tell which brother it had come from. You weighed your options. You had no weapon and you sure as hell weren’t gonna be much help in the state you were in, but as far as you knew, the demon still thought you were passed out in the chair. Or you hoped he thought that anyway. No one was in the hallway at least, so you eased the door open, desperately hoping that the demon hadn’t brought any friends back with him. If it was just him against the three of you, you might have a chance of walking out of here alive.

The hallway was pitch black once the door closed behind you, and after sitting in a lit room for so long (you still didn’t know how long it had been, but you were sure it had been multiple days), it took your eyes a minute to adjust. It was just a few steps to the end of the hallway, and you sank to your knees at the corner, not wanting to be seen quite yet. You squinted into the dark main area of the barn, trying to get a handle on what was going on at the moment.

You couldn’t make out Sam or Dean, but you could hear the demon. He seemed to be some distance away from you and to the left.

“A dance in the dark with a demon. This is _fun_. But I have to be honest with you boys, I expected a little more of a fight from the _infamous_ Winchester brothers.”

Something near your foot caught your eye suddenly—a sliver of moonlight shone through the slats of the barn wall, glinting off of something on the ground. With surprise you realized it was Sam’s demon blade. But _shit_ if he didn’t have the blade in his hand, that was not a good sign of how this was going. Then it dawned on you that the reason you couldn’t see Sam or Dean was because you were looking for them in the wrong place. Slowly, you looked up. You could just make out Sam’s silhouette pressed against the wall just to your right, boots dangling a few feet off the ground.

“You know, Dean, just because I can’t see you, doesn’t mean I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m calling your bluff on that one, you son of a bitch. You might be one powerful bastard, but I don’t think you’re _that_ good.” You could hear the soft thuds of Dean’s footfalls as he approached from the right, getting closer and closer to where you were kneeling in the shadows. You got the feeling that Dean and the demon were circling the barn facing each other, facing off, waiting to see who would crack first.

Then Dean made his move. A thin beam from a flashlight illuminated the center of the barn only briefly, swinging slightly as Dean landed it in the demon’s face. Then the light was gone, a glowing spot marring your vision for an instant, but you heard the splash of the holy water and the demon give an furious yell. Then the crack of the gunshot, which made you jump.

“Did you really think it would be that easy, Dean?” The demon laughed. There was a strangled yell from Dean as he flew through the air and slammed into the wall next to Sam.

“Now, you guys hang out there. I’m gonna go get our friend and finish my first project before I start on the next one. But I want you guys to watch her die.”

“NO!!” Dean’s anguished cry echoed in the empty space.

Adrenaline took over your body, overcoming the fear and the pain and everything else. You lunged forward toward the demon blade, slipping slightly in the dirt, relieved when your hand closed around the hilt. You shot to your feet and spun back, flattening yourself against the wall, and waited. The silent moment stretched long, and you thought for sure the demon knew you were there. Finally, you felt the air stir and you could hear his footsteps approaching you at a painstakingly slow rate. You forced your breathing to be steady as you clutched the knife at your side, ready to pounce.

Closer.

Closer.

Then you dove forward and plunged the blade into his chest as hard as you could, a wild scream escaping your throat. The yellowish orange light flickered once, twice, and then the body dropped to the ground with an empty thud.

Two louder thuds followed as Dean and Sam dropped to the floor with grunts and groans. You were momentarily frozen in place, the shock of what you’d just accomplished rolling over you along with all the exhaustion and pain that the adrenaline had been staving off. Dean was in front of you just before your legs gave out completely, and you collapsed into him. The blade hit the ground with a clatter as Dean caught you under your armpits and gathered you into his chest.

“I thought I told you to stay in that room,” Dean mumbled against your hair.

“I just _saved your asses_ ,” was about all you could manage to say.

“That’s my girl,” Dean said as he scooped you off the floor. And for a minute, even in the exhausted, hazy fog of your sleep and nutrient deprived brain, you felt like none of it had ever happened—the fight and the insecurity and feeling wholly unwanted—because Dean had just called you _his girl_. But you were too worn out to really think about anything except how much you wanted to sleep. Your head was spinning. You looked up at Dean’s face, but you couldn’t focus.

“Sammy, will you take care of the body? I’ll get Y/N to the car,” was the last thing you heard before succumbed to the black.

  
  
  
  


****Dean’s POV****

 

The drive to the hospital seemed to take an eternity. It was too quiet—the only sound was the roar of the impala’s engine as Sam sped down the highway. I looked down at Y/N, tattered and bloody, so pale, looking like she hadn’t slept or eaten in days. I hadn’t quite been able to process how wounded she was until I got her into the car; I couldn’t believe she’d just ganked a demon in this state. My stomach clenched. I couldn’t believe she’d _had_ to gank a demon in this state. The exertion and movement of stabbing the demon must have aggravated the cuts to her midsection because her shirt was soaked through in the front, so I’d torn off my flannel and was holding it against her stomach in an effort to stop the blood flow. But red patches had begun to appear in the bunched up blue and white plaid. I checked her pulse, and it was faint and erratic.

“She’s losing too much blood. Dammit, Sam, drive faster,” I yelled to the front seat. Sam pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

All of this was my fault. Even when I’d had the chance, I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t believe I’d let that demon get past me. What kind of hunter was I? She’d had to save herself. Even beaten and broken, she was still as badass as ever. She didn’t need me. She sure as hell wouldn’t want me after all this. I’d put her through this. If she woke up— _when_ she woke up—she would probably hate me.

The thoughts pummeled me like a highschool bully—one after the other smashing through my brain, leaving me feeling like the worthless, poisonous piece of shit man that I was.

I couldn’t believe I’d been worried about a Djinn. _Fucking stupid_.

If I hadn’t insisted she stay at the bunker, this never would have happened. _I can’t keep anyone safe_.

If I’d actually had some self control, we could have avoided this whole mess. I never should have kissed her that day I was stitching up her hand. I never should have gotten involved. That’s when it all started crumbling down. I ruined everything because I couldn’t just keep it in my pants. _I don’t do relationships, what the hell was I thinking_?

We should never have let her come hunting with us in the first place. I should have asked her to leave as soon as her shoulder was healed and not cared a stitch about where she went or what happened to her. _Every time we get tangled up with someone, bad things happen_.

 _All our friends are dead_. She could have been next. I wanted to scream, but I took a deep breath and closed my eyes instead. Images of Y/N flitted behind my eyelids—one smiling and laughing and the next bloody and hollow-eyed. It felt like my heart was tearing in two, and I was acutely aware of the pain.

 _Finally_ Sam pulled up to the ER entrance of the closest hospital. The car had barely rolled to a stop before I threw the door open and scrambled out onto the pavement with Y/N in my arms. I didn’t wait a second or even look back to see what Sam was doing; I didn’t care. I sprinted through the doors and up to the desk.

“Can I get a doctor over here?!”

 

 

****Reader’s POV****

 

It took you a few moments to realize that you were in a hospital bed when you woke up. You glanced around at the dripping IV bags and the beeping monitors, unable to figure out why you were there until it all came back to you in a rush. You were surprised to find that you actually felt pretty...good. A little light headed, maybe, with a tinge of a headache, but otherwise, you felt okay. You looked down to find Dean, asleep in a chair pulled up next to your bed, slumped over with his head resting on your arm and his fingers wrapped around yours.

You smiled a little and looked up as Sam walked into the room, holding two coffees.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed with a grin. “You’re awake!”

Dean stirred at the sound of Sam’s voice, bolting upright and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sam handed Dean his coffee and sat down in the empty chair.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked. His eyes looked hollow and sad, and your stomach sank.

“Um…” You cleared your throat. “Pretty good actually, considering. I must be on a lot of pain meds, huh? How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly a day,” Sam said, taking a sip of his coffee. You glanced out the window, noticing that it seemed to be about sunset. Rolling hills and emerald trees filled the frame.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. Amish country mostly, I think.” Sam said, following your gaze out the window.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” you murmured lightly. You longed to be outside in the fresh air and sunshine. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d been outside. Dean stood up suddenly.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Something to eat? Do you need a nurse or anything?”

“I would love a coffee, actually.” Dean immediately grabbed his cup and started walking toward the door.

“Let me just put some cream in this for you, and it’s all yours,” he said as he left the room. You turned to Sam.

“What’s going on with him?”

Sam just shrugged.

 

* * *

 

After one more night in the hospital and a grueling trek across the country in the impala, you were finally home. Dean was quiet and aloof the whole way, not saying anymore than was strictly necessary. It was like he could barely even stand to look at you. You thought it would help—to be home—that maybe Dean would get back to normal. But it seemed like it was actually easier for him to avoid you at the bunker. He was always pretending to be busy; as soon as you would enter a room, he would make some excuse to leave it. It was carving your heart out of your chest. At night, you were painfully aware of how long it had been since you’d stayed in your own room, slept in your own bed. It just made you ache for Dean even more. Pain meds, unfortunately, couldn’t do anything for heartache.

You played it all over in your head continuously: the fight before the Djinn hunt, when they found you in the barn, when you killed the demon, being cradled in Dean’s arms, waking up in the hospital with his hand in yours.  All the times he’d kissed you, wrapped his arms around you, sleepily brought you coffee, looked into your eyes, stripped your clothes off and thrown you onto his bed. You were sure you hadn’t just interpreted everything all wrong. There was something here, and _dammit_ you were gonna fight for it. Even if it led nowhere, at least you would _know_. And if he’d decided he didn’t want you anymore, then you would back off, but at least you would _know_. You were going absolutely insane with all this space between you and you couldn’t stand it for one more second. You were not a confrontational person, but you knew that’s what it would take. You rehearsed in your head what you would say a million times, you just needed a chance.

The second night back, you were restless with all this in your head, and the little sleep you did manage was fitful and light. Your stitches itched and you couldn’t shut off your brain. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, you conked out for a little, but were woken again after just a few hours. It took you a second to figure out what had woken you, but when you heard a whisper behind you, you froze.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I—” Dean whispered. A soft sniffle. Your heart cracked open and your eyes filled with tears. You often slept on your right side, with your back to the door (bad idea for a hunter, you knew, but it was a habit you couldn’t break), so Dean couldn’t see your face from where he sat in your desk chair, which he had pulled up next to your bed. He had no idea you were awake. So as much as you wanted to roll over and kiss him and drag him down into bed with you, you stayed perfectly still, made your breathing deep and rhythmic, pretended to be asleep. You wanted to hear what he had to say, and you knew that if he was here in the middle of the night saying the words to your sleeping back, there was no way he would ever say them to your face.

“I just— _god_ , Y/N, I care about you so much—too much—if anything ever happened to you—when I thought I’d lost you…Y/N…I love you, baby.” Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the quiet hush of the room, you heard his words loud and clear. Your heart felt like it would burst out of your chest. “And I just can’t…I can’t ever see you go through something like that ever again. I’m so sorry I put you through that, baby. I just…I can’t.” He fell silent, and you knew this was your chance. You took a deep breath and then rolled over. 


	5. Tell Me I'm Alive

****Reader’s POV****

 

When you turned around to face Dean, his eyes were wide and glassy. He sat back in the chair and dragged a hand down over his face.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Dean…” You didn’t know what to say. The little speech you had rehearsed a hundred times in your head was worthless. You didn’t know how to do this right now, in the dark, after you’d just heard Dean spill his guts when he thought you couldn’t hear him.

You sat up and scooted toward Dean, the sheet and blanket slipping from your shoulders and pooling around your waist. You shivered as the cool air of the room hit your bare arms and shoulders, goosebumps appearing along your skin. You moved forward until you were face to face with Dean. You could tell he was trying to judge whether or not you’d heard all that he’d said—torn between wanting to pretend it had never happened and nervous about what you were about to say. You were close enough now that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the gunpowder on his hands and the fabric softener drifting up from the shoulders of his flannel shirt. Heat radiated off of him and attracted you like a magnet—you just wanted to curl up against his chest and ask him to hold you forever—and even though you’d intended to _talk_ this out, it had been _so long_ —five days that felt like a century—since you’d felt Dean’s lips on you that you just kept drifting forward until you were kissing him, hot and full on the mouth.

You were so afraid that Dean would pull away from you and so relieved when instead he leaned in, his lips moving under yours and his tongue sliding into your mouth. You sighed against his mouth when his hands found your hips and pressed forward, pushing you backwards onto the bed. You gave in easily, landing softly amidst the tangled sheets, your lips never leaving Dean’s because your fingers were caught up in his hair, holding his face to yours. Dean climbed over you, his knees on either side of your hips, one hand lightly skimming up your body. His hands and his mouth were all heat, _fire_ , lighting up every nerve, making you feel alive.

When his hand reached your breast, you arched your back into his touch without even thinking—bad idea. Stitches pulled against flesh, and it hurt like hell. You gasped a little, though you tried not to, but Dean drew back immediately, and you could see the expression on his face crash from lust into guilt in one second flat.

“I’m sorry.” You could hear the pain in his voice and it made your heart wrench. His gaze focused on your midsection where your shirt had pulled up a little bit and he could see the bottom of the line of stitches, the angry red scar that you would probably wear for the rest of your life.

“Dean…” You sat up and reached for him, but he shot up off the bed and turned toward the door. If he left, your heart would shatter. “Dean, stop! You can’t avoid me forever. I know you feel bad about what happened, but it wasn’t your fault.”

He spun around, fists clenched at his sides. “The hell it wasn’t my fault, Y/N! I was the one that made you stay here, that left you by yourself! This never would have happened to you if it weren’t for me.”

With everything that had happened over the past five days, you’d almost forgotten the feeling of insecurity that swamped you when you thought about all the reasons Dean probably had asked you to stay behind from that hunt, but now it came flooding back. You didn’t blame him in the slightest for what had happened to you, but you still wanted an explanation for why he’d insisted you stay behind from that Djinn hunt.

“Dean…” You didn’t want to make the situation worse or make him feel worse, but you had to know. “Why _did_ you ask me to stay? Was it...was it because you were tired of me? Did you...not want me anymore?” Your voice was barely audible; Dean had to lean forward to hear your words. His face twisted.

“God, no, Y/N. Please _please_ don’t think that. I was just…it was fucking stupid is what it was. I was being a fucking moron. I thought you would be safer here, but _god_ I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.” He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I had this dream...that you were dying, and I couldn’t save you. So I wanted you to stay here; I thought you would be _safer_ here. I wanted you with us, trust me. I just...I was trying to do the right thing. Turns out anytime I try and do something right, it blows up in my fucking face.”

Everything was clicking into place—everything about the fight, the way Dean had been acting, what he’d whispered to your sleeping back. _Finally_ some truth, some clarity. You got off the bed slowly, wincing slightly when your stitches pulled with the movement. You stood face to face with Dean and grabbed one of his hands, unclenching his fist and lacing your fingers with his.

“Thank you—”

“Don’t—” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not done,” you said sharply. You took a deep breath. “I know you want me to be safe, and I thank you for that, but you can’t protect me all the time. You can’t take on that impossible burden; it’s not fair to you. I know you feel responsible for Sam because he’s your little brother, and that’s understandable. But I’m not here to be another responsibility for you or because I expect that from you. I’m an adult and a hunter, and I can take care of myself. I think I’ve proved that.”

“If I can’t protect you, then what am I supposed to do?”

“Just...fight alongside me. Together. Let go of the burden and all that guilt you carry around all the time.”

“I can’t just pretend this never happened.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend it never happened. I’m asking you to accept the fact that it wasn’t your fault. This is not on you, Dean. I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should.”

“I won’t, Dean. I know you and I love you, and—”

“Dammit, Y/N, _stop_. You _can’t_ love me. I’m poison. All my friends are dead. _You_ could have been dead.” He pulled his hand out of yours, and you felt your heart go with it. “I can’t put you at risk like that. You can’t love me, okay? We can’t do this.” Tears filled your eyes; you tried to blink them away, but your voice still shook when you spoke. You could feel him slipping away from you—like water sliding between your fingers; the harder you tried to hold on the more you lost him—but you were desperate to make him understand.

“No, _please_ , Dean. I heard you say it; I know how you feel. We can do this. Don’t we deserve to? This life isn’t easy; don’t we owe ourselves a tiny slice of happiness?”

“Forget whatever you think you heard, Y/N. I don’t deserve shit. Anything good I’ve ever had has ended up broken and bloody. I’m not gonna let that happen again.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath. You could practically see his walls going back up. “I need a drink.”

This time you let him go.

****  
  
  


****Dean’s POV****

The whiskey burned, but it was all I could feel so I kept tossing it back, glass after glass, finally finding relief from the ache in my chest. I aimlessly scrolled through the news, looking for anything suspicious, anything that could be a case, anything to keep me distracted from this mess I’d created.

We all needed a case; we needed to get back to normal—or whatever qualified as normal for us anyway—back to the way things were before I fucked it all over. The three of us hunting together, just like we’d done for the past year, nothing complicated, no feelings, just ganking monsters and doing our job.

Sam walked through the library at about quarter to 6:00 in the morning, but I didn’t have the energy to even glance at him until he slid into the chair across from me. I did not feel like talking, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get out of it.

“You’re up early.”

“Yeah, well, that happens when you never really get to bed.”

I saw him eye up the empty bottle sitting on the table.

“Dean—”

“I am not in the mood right now, Sammy.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I made my bed, and now I have to sleep in it. Or whatever.” I shrugged and polished off the bit of amber liquid that was left in my glass.

“You’re pushing her away, Dean. You’re gonna lose her, and you’re gonna regret it.”

I just shrugged, not willing to attempt to voice any of what I felt. The ache started to creep back in—smothering and consuming, making it hard for me to breath again. _Dammit, Sam, just when I was getting numb you had to go and bring it up_. I set my glass on the table heavily, wishing there was anything left to pour into it. I could feel Sam staring at me, and I knew he wanted to say more, but didn’t want to piss me off. Eventually, he got up and went to the kitchen, and soon I could smell coffee brewing. Just as he plunked a mug onto the table in front of me, my eyes landed on a suspicious headline.

“Finally,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “I think I found us a case.”

****  
  
  


****Reader’s POV****

You were sitting on your bed folding laundry when someone knocked on your door.

“Come in!” you called out. You were 90% sure that it was Sam, not Dean. You didn’t expect to see Dean for a while after your 3am conversation. You were right.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I suppose.” You shrugged. Actually, you were pissed and hurt, your stitches were itchy and sore, and you were exhausted from not getting any sleep the night before.

“Dean’s found a case. Looks like maybe a cursed object up in Lincoln.”

“He found a case?”

“Yeah. He wants you to come, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“ _Now_ he wants me to come on the hunt? And he doesn’t even have the balls come talk to me himself?”

Sam gave a small shrug, his forehead crinkling as he raised his eyebrows at you. The look on his face said, _I know he’s being a dick, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to tell you_. Your anger fizzled out; damn those puppy dog eyes.

“Sorry.” You looked down at the balled up shirt in your hand that you had been folding. “I know it’s not your fault, Sam. I just...I don’t know how to make him understand.”

“I know.”

“I also don’t think I’m in any condition to hunt right now. I can’t take these damn stitches out for a few more days, and it still hurts to move.”

“Okay, I’ll let him know.” He started to leave, but then turned back. “Y/N, don’t...don't give up on him, okay?”

“What am I supposed to do, Sam? He won’t listen to me. He won’t even _look_ at me.” _Do you have any idea how much that hurts?_ You wanted to say it outloud, but you didn’t because your voice was shaking again and you could feel a sob rising in your throat. Plus Sam didn’t deserve to have all this unloaded on him or to be caught in the middle.

“He really doesn’t mean it; he’ll come around.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m starting to think he’ll never let me in. Maybe he just doesn’t want to.”

“No, Y/N. Don’t give up. Please. He wants it...he just thinks he can’t. That he doesn’t deserve it. I just don’t want it to be too late by the time he finally realizes what an amazing thing he has here.”

You blushed at the compliment and looked down. “Thanks, Sam.”

* * *

 

The boys were gone for two days taking care of the cursed object in Lincoln, and when they got back, Dean wasn’t acting any differently—half the time he avoided you like a plague and when absolutely forced to be around you, he practically treated you like a stranger or a sister.

More days passed, and you were miserable. You tried to give him space, but it was damn hard to act like you had before—when you’d silently loved Dean for all those months. When you thought he would never want you. It was nearly impossible. You couldn’t look at him without being bombarded with memories of his lips on you and his arms around you. You couldn’t hear his voice without imagining him whispering your name. It was different now, knowing what you’d had but not having it anymore.

One night, you were washing dishes in the kitchen, and Dean brought in his and Sam’s dinner plates. He set them on the counter and then turned to leave without saying a word to you. You were struck with a tinge of deja vu and then you remembered Dean doing the same thing—bringing some cups and plates into the kitchen while you were cleaning up—but that time he’d wrapped his arms around your waist, pushed his hips into your ass, whispered naughty things into your ear, making you giggle. The memory washed over you with such force that it took your breath away and made your chest ache. It was too much. And you just snapped. The plate you were holding dropped out of your hands and into the soapy water with a splash. You braced your hands on the edge of the counter.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean. I can’t go back to the way things were. I don’t _want_ to go back to the way things were. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. But I can’t...I can’t be around you because it hurts too damn much.”

You turned to see Dean stopped in the doorway with his back to you. His broad shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. You knew the last thing he wanted was to have this conversation with you right now, but you didn’t give a shit, to be honest. You were determined that this was going to get resolved tonight. By the end of this conversation, you would either be kissing Dean or leaving the bunker—you couldn’t take this limbo for one more minute.

Slowly Dean turned around to face you, his green eyes heavy with sadness and his jaw clenched.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Y/N. This is the best I can give you.”

“ _Bullshit_ , Dean! That is not true! What we had, Dean...I know we only had it for, like, a minute, but it was the best damn minute of my life. You made me feel…” You took a deep breath. “I can’t pretend like it never happened, Dean. And it’s too hard to be around you because it’s all I can think about. I feel like my heart is being carved out of my chest every time I look at you.”

“No one is forcing you to stay here and be around me, Y/N.” His words hit you like a punch in the gut, and you took a step back, leaning on the counter for support.

“Do you _want_ me to leave?” Your voice was a whisper.

“ _No_ , I don’t want you to leave. But I can’t and I won’t let us get close again. It’s just going to lead to trouble.”

“No, it won’t, Dean! Why won’t you listen to me? _Please_.” You were begging, but you didn’t care. You swiped at the hot angry tears coursing down your cheeks. “Dean, I _love_ you. And I _know_ you love me too. It might be dangerous and messy, but sometimes you have to bleed a little just to know that you’re alive, you know? This is life, Dean, you can’t control it. You can’t keep yourself from being happy just because you think it _could be_ bad. That’s no way to live. I don’t want to live that way.”

“Well then, don’t. I understand if you want to go. You deserve to be happy.” His voice had become clipped and emotionless.

“I don’t _want_ to leave, Dean. I’m not going to be happy if I leave. I don’t want to be happy with anyone else but you. Don’t you get that?”

“I can’t give you what you want, Y/N. You’d be better off looking for it somewhere else.” Dean turned to leave. You could see that this was hurting him, and it was hurting you too, but you couldn’t stop, you weren’t just going to let it go this time.

“Dean Winchester, you can cut me out of your life if you want to, but that does not mean I can just stop loving you.” He stopped again in the doorway and stood motionless for a long moment. Finally, he turned around, eyes glassy and hands shaking, and took a few steps until he was directly in front of you.

“Everyone I love _dies_ , Y/N. I _can’t_ love you.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes, you _can_ , Dean. You just have to let yourself.” You reached your hands up to cup his face. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, and you knew you had finally gotten through to him. “I’m tired of this fight,” he mumbled.

“Then stop fighting it, Dean. Let whatever’s going to happen just happen. You can’t live your life trying to stop it. Just let it happen.”

You barely got the last word out of your mouth before his lips were on yours, softly coaxing yours open. One of his hands cupped the side of your face, fingers pushing into your hair, and the other landed on your waist, gently pulling you against him. Fresh tears came to your eyes as you were overwhelmed with the emotion coming from Dean. This was nothing like the normal, passionate, sexy kisses you’d had with him; this was all tenderness and compassion and warmth. Your knees went weak, and you were glad the counter was behind you, holding you up.

When Dean pulled away, your eyes were slow to flutter open. He dropped his head, pressing his forehead against yours, using a thumb to wipe the tears off your cheek.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say THANK YOU to anyone that read this fic and left kudos or a comment—that means the world to me! This is the longest thing I've written in a LONG time, and I never would have finished it if it wasn't for the feedback. I hope this last chapter is a satisfying ending (please let me know what you think!). I'm a little sad that it's over, and I'm *thinking* about writing a bonus sexy/smutty chapter (just to practice smut writing).


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